Out of Hand
by MWoods78
Summary: Cuddy joins House and Wilson when they celebrate House's birthday. Huddy Smut. Adult two-part fiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This will be a 2 chapter story (it was supposed to be one, but it was getting really long, so I'll post it in two parts.) It is meant to take place in season 4-style time period but doesn't really make any attempts to fit into a proper timeline.  
**

**There is Adult Material in this fic (it's pretty much just smut, and the lead-in to the smut). If you do not like that type of story, please do not read. **

**These characters are the property of their rightful owners—I'm not one of their rightful owners.**

* * *

House and Wilson were loitering at the balcony, looking down at the people below as if they were lab rats. House hated birthdays, they were pointless reminders of something he clearly didn't care about. Wilson remembered though, so they decided they'd go out for the night.

"Happy Birthday," Cuddy said casually as she leaned against the railing next to House.

"Oh goodie, you remembered," he replied disdainfully.

"Doing anything fun?"

"We're going to watch pretty women 'dance' and take off their clothes."

Cuddy scoffed, "Seriously? At your age, that's still fun?"

"At your age is sex still fun?"

"I'm not that old."

"Well, this is sex-related and I am a guy, so—it's fun."

"Sounds more frustrating than anything. Like so-so sex without an orgasm."

"Are you one of those women who expects those?" he shouted loudly so the people below all looked up, a devious smile on his face.

"I forgot, the women you sleep with, you give money to so you don't have to worry about whether or not they enjoy themselves. You probably don't even remember how to return the favor."

"Oh, I remember," he responded, neither of them backing from their verbal sparring.

Wilson was standing behind House and looked around to try to break up the match, "What are you doing tonight?"

"Me? I was going to take you guys to dinner to celebrate another year of miraculous liver function. Since you have very frustrating plans already, maybe some other time," she started walking away and then looked back, "Since Wilson's going along, maybe he can help you out."

Wilson flinched, shaking a hand in front of his chest to indicate his unwillingness.

"You never know. Have fun!" she said chipperly and began to walk away again.

House followed her. She felt like she had won, and he couldn't take that. "Where were we going for dinner? I'm not really into brie and grapes," he shouted at the top of his voice down the hall after her.

She turned back, "Steak house."

"I have never seen you eat red meat."

"It's not my birthday."

"We'll pick you up at seven. You're still buying," House said, grinning while he limped back to Wilson.

Wilson got a taxi and picked House up before they went to Cuddy's. House rung her doorbell, and a freshly primped Cuddy came to the door. "Just let me get my purse," she said, retreating into her home.

She was wearing a dress, something casual and sexy and just a little short, but still more decent than House would have wanted to see. They took a few steps down the walkway before he stopped in front of her, "After a few drinks, are we going to tell Wilson that you actually know firsthand that I know how to reciprocate? Actually, you know that I am very, very good at reciprocation. I may have actually invented reciprocation."

She smirked up flirtatiously, "No. We are not going to mention that. I was too drunk to have a really good time, and I'm pretty sure I faked it."

"You did not fake it," he immediately responded, leaning toward her and pointing an accusing finger. "You could not fake that kind of orgasm. I know the difference."

"Men always insist that they know. Like I said, it was all pretty forgettable, and I was drunk."

"You were buzzed when we left the party, by the time we had sex, you were closer to sober than wasted."

"Then maybe it was forgettable for other reasons," she challenged. She was very confident, taunting him a bit, but her eyes were still flirting with him.

"You're taking me out for my birthday, and to commemorate this blessed event, you're lying to me right to my face. Admit I was good," House demanded.

Wilson shouted from the taxi, "Come on, let's go!"

Cuddy raised an eyebrow, her eyes moving down over his chest. "You were good," she said, her expression paying a compliment that her words did not fully express before she slipped past him and went to the cab.

Dinner went well enough as House and Cuddy continued their game of flirtation and provocation, and Wilson tried to prevent the night from exploding in a fight. When they were finished eating, Cuddy turned to House, "Happy Birthday. Have fun with naked girls and Wilson. Smart money says Wilson's the only one who might go home with you for free."

"Hey," Wilson started before House stepped in.

"Come with us. You might have fun. Or maybe you're too uptight," House baited.

"Is that like daring me to come?" she asked.

"If I say it is, will that work?"

"I'm not sure why you would want that. Then there will be naked girls you can't touch, a Wilson you don't want to touch, and a fully clothed woman you can't touch. That's not really helping your situation any."

"That may be. But at least it will look like I'm getting lucky. Or is it unlucky?"

"Fine, just for an hour."

Once they arrived at the club, House added, "Also the girls here like it when there's a woman at the table."

"Probably because women aren't always trying to sneak in a grope and they don't get that idiotic, brain-dead look on their faces."

House smiled, opening the door and gesturing her through, "No—that's not why."

They were placed at a booth toward the back where they could bring a dancer to their table or watch a stage full of dancers at the front of the space. They each had drinks, Cuddy was careful to sip hers slowly. She wanted to find a nice buzz, but she certainly didn't want her inhibitions to be lowered to a dangerous level. House and Wilson were watching the dancer, Cuddy was trying to watch the guys without being noticed, and then she looked down at her cell phone in her purse.

"Are you bored?" House accused.

"No."

"I think you're bored," he answered, signaling to one of the dancers.

She approached, looked at Cuddy and leaned down, "God, Lisa? What in the hell are you doing here?"

"Rebecca? I didn't expect to see you here."

"Call me Dahlia. Don't use my name," she whispered. "And don't tell anyone you saw me here."

"I wouldn't worry about me ever mentioning that. "

"We need to go out again," Dahlia said, "I had such a great time and it feels like it's been forever."

"WE went out?" House asked, leaning into Cuddy's space.

"We were at a hideously pretentious, boring party, so a few of us decided to go dancing. It was fun."

"If it was pretentious and boring, was it Cuddy's party?" House asked.

"Lisa is definitely not boring," Dahlia answered while it seemed she was reminiscing about the night.

"So you guys went dancing—together?"

Dahlia smiled, turning to House, suddenly acting more like a stripper, "Yea, we did. She's a very good dancer."

House leaned back, shoved his hand in his jeans' pocket and slapped all of his money on the table. "I want a lap dance."

She kicked out a chair with her foot at the front of the table and offered sexily, "Come out here, honey."

"Not for me," House shook his head and pointed at Cuddy, "for her."

"Sure."

"No thank you," Cuddy responded quickly, "I'm doing just fine."

"It'll be fun," Dahlia answered. "Or if you want, we could just dance. He'd probably like that better anyway."

"I'm not worried about what he'd like. I'm not here for his entertainment."

House started feeling in his other pocket in the hopes of finding more money.

"Convince your girl friend to get a lapdance, and you can keep most of that cash you dropped on the table," the stripper said.

House leaned forward, "What do you want?" Cuddy started to consider the request and he added, "Whatever you want, you can pretty much name it."

"I'm not taking off any of my clothes," Cuddy answered.

"Just one dance. Clothes on. Pick your prize."

"You can owe me a favor."

"I don't want to do clinic hours," he whined.

"Not at the clinic."

"Nothing hospital related."

Cuddy thought for a minute, happily observing the over-eager look on House's face before she said, "Eh forget it."

"Fine, I'll do hospital crap," he tried to continue negotiations, sensing an impeding screeching halt.

"It isn't that. You pay for women for entertainment or sex. That's normal for you. I don't want to be one in a long line of women you've paid to do stuff for you. I like being different."

Dahlia leaned down to Cuddy, taking her hand from the table to pull her forward. "Dancing with you will double or triple my tips given the crowd that just walked in. I'll split them with you."

"I don't need the money," Cuddy answered, "but thanks for the offer." She pushed around the cash that House had laid on the table, estimating how much was there. "Wow, you really wanted a chance to see that."

Dahlia shrugged before she left, "If you change your mind—"

"I don't see why it's a big deal. Have you seen how you dress?" House argued.

"If how I dress is sexy enough, why'd you drop all that cash for the chance to watch me?"

"Because I wanted to watch her and you."

"I'm sure she could call another dancer over to dance with her, if what you want is two girls. The allure is completely lost on me."

"I just don't get why you won't do it. You walk up and down the halls at work, trying to give a hard-on to anything with penis, but yet you won't dance with a girl for five minutes. And you danced with her before."

"Yea, I did. Because I wanted to, because it was fun, not to be ogled by a pile of drunks. Besides, my performances are earned, not paid for. And I'm more of a one-on-one kind of woman."

Of course he smirked, the thought of a personal, private performance by Cuddy was going to be the perfect thing to jerk off to. "How does one earn these performances?"

She smiled, "There isn't a formula."

"You could probably learn something from your buddy to use in these one-on-one performances."

She turned and watched the woman giving a lap dance to an obviously intoxicated and horribly unattractive man in a very expensive suit. "I'm better at it," Cuddy said confidently.

"Is that so?"

"Definitely. I'm better because I don't have to do that shit for anyone with a few dollars in his pocket. If I do something like that, it's because I'm attracted to a man, I want to make him feel good, turn him on. And if that's the case, I'm obviously kind of turned on as well, so the whole thing is hot and erotic and very sensual."

"I'm sure it is."

"Is that sarcasm?" she snipped, quickly turning her head to confront him.

He had a playful look that could have become taunting, but softened into something more aroused and admiring. "Not at all."

Cuddy turned back to watch what was going on around them, a little smile on her face. She started critiquing the next stripper's moves, whispering to House and Wilson what she thought a better move would be or mentioning things that she thought would be sexier. She was speaking like she was evaluating an employee, being direct and almost clinical.

She was sitting on the seat next to House, sipping her drink and talking. He found that the urge to touch her was overwhelming. He started to wonder if he could get away with it, if he could figure out a way to touch her that wouldn't put him at too much risk for rejection. He took another sip of his drink and put his hand between them on the seat. The edge of his finger was touching her thigh, more like brushing it, but she continued to evaluate the performances.

Wilson was talking with her, sharing his thoughts on the scene around them, but House couldn't hear any of the conversation anymore. His mind was filled with the questions of what to do next. He finally decided to try, to make a move because if she called him out, he'd make a joke out of it, and he really wasn't any worse off. His hand moved to her thigh, just above her knee where the edge of the dress met her skin. She was listening to Wilson at the time, the only sign that anything had changed was the way she pressed her lips subtly together. House's fingers reached down to her knee, his thumb rubbing the outer side of her thigh.

She brought her hand to her face, her index finger resting against her lips, but she wasn't shoving him away. She wasn't doing anything particularly inviting either. It occurred to House that she was probably thinking things through, weighing pros and cons, and he didn't want her to have too much time to think about everything. His fingers gathered the edge of her dress and lifted it a few inches, dragging the tips of his fingers along the smooth skin of her thigh. He didn't lift it too high, not enough to make her pull away, but enough, he hoped, to make her mind become as clouded with thoughts as his was.

Her breath changed a little, her face was suddenly blanker, and he thought he could tell she was intentionally trying to look unaffected. Her inaction was the yellow light he was looking for, the suggestion to proceed cautiously, but be prepared to be suddenly brought to a stop. Yellow definitely didn't mean no.

If someone would have asked him exactly what he was doing, he couldn't have answered. He was centered in that moment, no forethought, no plan for the future, just a chance to touch Cuddy's thigh under the table.

Wilson had been talking all along, but suddenly seemed to be waiting for a response from House on something. Cuddy was able to follow the conversation and respond while being fondled. House was incapable of concentrating on anything except caressing her skin. When he realized that Wilson wasn't giving up his pursuit of an answer, House snapped, "I was hoping you'd leave your vagina at home. You're trying to share meaningful conversation at a strip club?"

Wilson looked at Cuddy, "I didn't realize lingerie choices qualified as meaningful conversation."

House thought for a second that maybe the conversation going on around him was an interesting one, but Cuddy's increasingly bared thigh was still a better thing to think about. As he became more brazen and she still didn't push him away, he could feel the warmth and heaviness growing in his groin that accompanied the somewhat nervous flutter of anticipation in his chest.

He wanted to know what in the hell was going on in her head almost as much as he wanted his hand to reach the top of her thighs without her pulling away. There was more conversation, but House's mind concentrated on Cuddy and the cold glass that he'd occasionally sip from, mostly because he wanted his disinterest in conversation to seem like interest in alcohol. "What are you doing?" Wilson asked.

House looked at Cuddy first, but she didn't seem angry, she looked like she was waiting for his answer. His fingers began to retract, but she opened her leg another inch toward him. It was a small amount but telling. He had no idea how far she was going to let this go, but she still wasn't done playing. She leaned closer with a confident flirtiness and whispered, "Wilson asked what you are doing after this."

She backed away, but he realized how close they were at that point. His eyes went to her lips, deep pink and slightly parted, then he saw her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, but she exuded self-assurance. Some part of him wished he had the power to pull away, to shake her confidence a little by making her question his intentions, but instead his hand ventured a bit higher until he was at the very top. He could feel the warmth emanating from the center of her and wondered if she was really as turned on as he was.

"Are you alright?" Wilson asked. "Maybe Vicodin and scotch are bad idea."

"Vicodin and scotch are never a bad idea," House answered.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"I have Vicodin, scotch and strippers. Do you think I'm ok?"

"Fine. Cuddy's leaving soon, so do you want to go with her, go somewhere else with me or go home?"

"You're leaving?" House asked her.

She smiled slightly, allowing the answer to come slowly. She flicked her hair back with a nonchalant toss of her head, but Wilson answered, "She said she was only staying an hour. It's been longer than that."

Two strippers came up to Wilson. It seemed obvious that they knew they could fluster him, and they did. He looked shy but flattered as they led him off to the side. House and Cuddy were alone, or as alone as they could be in a club full of people. In one bold second, perhaps fearing that she was about to leave or perhaps because a moment of bravery hit him, his pinky pressed against her panties. His knuckle moved over the fabric where it covered her slit and he could feel the moisture seeping through the spaces in the cloth.

He saw her exhale a bit more heavily, but she was still perfectly poised. He continued to move his knuckle, feeling her thighs part a little more. She sighed just a tiny bit. Or maybe she allowed him to hear a breath, the sound was that subtle. In the time it took to make that sound, his mind suddenly transported him to a place where she was naked and squirming beneath him while he was pounding inside her. His mild erection was no longer mild.

The panties were a technicality, he rationalized, an irritating paper-thin blockade to a goal, so he slipped one finger under them to lift them from her body so that he could touch her. There she was, fully clothed yet so beautifully exposed, his finger sliding slowly through the pool of dampness that surrounded her clit and coated her delicate folds while he tried to view everything that was going on under the table in his mind's eye.

At that point, he had no choice but to come up with a plan. There were choices to be made, erotic, sexy, potentially orgasmic choices. He could try to make her cum right there, sitting at the table in a room full of people. He doubted she'd actually let things get that far. But there were other possibilities, like trying to lure her to some place private or even get her to come home with him. Those ideas sounded like the most fun, but of course, the longer it took from the time he stopped touching her until they got to the new location, the more likely it was that she'd stop thinking about how good his fingers felt and start thinking about consequences.

Consequences seemed like a very unnecessary thing to think about at the time.

He was able to reach a finger lower, pressing the tip of it into her to test her permissiveness. Instantly that was the only place in the world he wanted to be. He wanted to be inside her more than he was able to really comprehend. He liked touching her in this circumstance, but started to wonder what it would feel like if she was touching him, too. He knew he wanted something more than fingering her under a table to what would be, at best, a muted climax that he couldn't fully enjoy if she was trying to remain composed.

Just when he thought he'd made up his mind to try to find them a back room or a dimmer place to be alone, one of the strippers who'd just managed to earn a nice chunk of Wilson's spending money walked up and said, "I hear it's your birthday."

House didn't really comprehend what the woman was saying, he was looking off in the distance while his mind was lost between Cuddy's thighs. The stripper spoke again, this time more loudly so House turned toward her, "You can get a free dance for your birthday."

The moment he turned to see what the stripper wanted, Cuddy grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from her body. House groaned pleadingly at Cuddy, "Why?"

Cuddy leaned over, "Have fun with your free dance, I'm going to the ladies' room."

The stripper was trying to get his attention, he was pulling off his jacket so he could cover his hard-on before going after Cuddy. "What's wrong?" the stripper asked while he blustered by.

He grabbed his cane so he could follow Cuddy to the ladies' room. She was already walking out when he got there. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, blocking much of the hallway. She walked right to him, standing inches away, leaning against the same wall with her back. "I'm gonna go," she said, "but thanks for inviting me. It was-interesting."

"Good. I'm gonna go, too. We have unfinished business."

"No we don't," she answered casually. "Isn't that what this place is about, getting worked up and turned on and going home alone?"

"Why did you stop me?" he whispered, confused and legitimately interested in the answer.

She turned to him, her eyes sincere, "I'm not gonna let you feel me up when you're thinking about someone else."

He looked around for an answer before he responded, "Who said I was thinking about anyone else?"

"You were looking at that stripper."

"Because she was talking to me. I didn't ask to be interrupted. So let's go somewhere where we won't be interrupted again."

She looked up at him, her eyes a bit playful because she definitely had him near pleading. She noticed the jacket that covered his front, but the disappointment and currently less than arousing situation was destroying his erection. She shook her head, "We probably shouldn't."

"Not even for my birthday? You know, one day, when you realized what you missed out on, you're going to look back and regret not pouncing on me while I was young."

"I did pounce on you while you were young. You aren't young anymore."

"Compared to seventy I am. Although I'll probably still be amazing at seventy, so if you change your mind at a future birthday, I'd still try to hit this if I were you."

She chuckled and shook her head, she looked tempted, and then she held out her balled up fist and pushed something into his hand and said, "Here. You can have these for your birthday."

He looked down, seeing the panties she had obviously been wearing. He nodded to the door, "Let's go."

"You can have those to remember the night I let you get a cheap feel under the table."

"You're only giving me the wrapper? What about what's inside the wrapper? Or was—inside the wrapper," he lifted his finger and put it in his mouth, tasting the flavor of her that remained from when he was touching her.

She backed away, he could practically see the jittery pulse that stung her body at the implication. Her mouth opened for a second, her eyes dazed and lusty, and then she quickly snapped back into control. She walked past him and back to the table. While he was catching up, her underwear shoved into his pocket, he heard her saying goodbye to Wilson.

"I'm ready to go, too," House said immediately, "we can all share a taxi."

"You guys don't have to leave on my account," she answered.

"I'm ready. You know how I'd hate to be late for work tomorrow."

"OK," Wilson stood, drunkenly, "I should get back home anyway."

House practically pushed Wilson into the front seat, and gave the driver Wilson's address. Their intoxicated friend stepped out, wishing goodbyes before they watched him disappear into the building. House gave Cuddy's address next. She didn't say much, mostly looking out the window.

He broke the silence, "Are you going to invite me in? Let me look through your thong vault to see what I want you to wear next year?"

"I don't know, you were a little handsy earlier."

"And you-got a little wet. More like a lot wet."

"Of course I did, that one stripper was hot."

He shook his head, "That's not why. You want me."

"You looked a little turned on, too."

"I wasn't a little turned on. I was very, very turned on from the time you suggested that you like to give private performances until I started groping you under the table. In fact, it all felt really good until you made me stop."

"Things were getting out of control."

"I still think you should prove to me that you're actually better than that stripper. It's proof plus a little birthday treat for me."

"Maybe I would have, but again, you were handsy."

"I promise, no hands," he offered, trying to do something so he could get her back to a place where maybe she'd consider cumming on his hand or his face or maybe even his cock. He wanted her beyond rationality, but for the moment, he just had to keep the night from ending.

The taxi pulled up in front of her home, she still hadn't really answered him. She paid the cab fare, kissed House on the cheek and got out of the cab. House was staring out the window, away from her home because he didn't want to watch her go back inside. The taxi driver turned back, "Buddy, either get out or close the door and tell me where you're going."

House turned and saw that, when Cuddy had gotten out of the cab, she left the car door open. When he looked up after her, he watched her walk through her front door, and she left that open as well. He considered the situation for a moment longer, too long for the cabbie, who said, "Look, buddy, if you aren't interested, I'll follow her in and you can drive the taxi."

* * *

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: In retrospect, I probably should have published this all as one chapter. I'll know for next time. Thanks for the reviews and favorites.  
**

* * *

A zing of alertness coursed through him when he realized she was inviting him in. House got out of the taxi and walked up to Cuddy's. There was a dim light on in the living room and a light coming from the kitchen, but her place seemed dark otherwise. When he shut the door, she called out from the kitchen, "Do you want something with or without alcohol?"

He didn't respond, he was busy assessing the situation.

"I'm having water," she added, trying to prompt an answer.

House sneered, "I'll take a-," he stopped for a second and looked at her in the doorway. Her clothing hadn't changed, but she was backlit by her kitchen, calmly waiting to hear what he wanted.

"Are you a lot more intoxicated than I'd previously thought?" she asked when he didn't answer quickly enough.

"No," he replied, "I'm looking for the hidden camera or trap door."

"I didn't know you were coming back here, so I didn't have time to prepare any traps or cameras."

He limped up to her, dropping his cane and jacket on the chair and standing very close to her. He took her drink since he hadn't chosen one yet. Careful not to let his fingers touch hers, he took a sip and handed it back. "Why did you let me come in?" he asked.

"Because I wanted to."

"You wanted me to come over so we could sip water and not touch each other?"

"I thought you wanted proof that I'm sexier than the strippers at that club."

He tilted his head, like he was accepting something that he thought was only being offered as a joke. "If you're offering, I won't say no."

"If you tell anyone I did this, I'll deny it."

"I know."

"And I'm not getting completely naked."

He shrugged, it was irrelevant. She grabbed a chair from her desk and pushed it toward him near the middle of the room. He wasn't sure how far she was going to take the joke, but he couldn't help but already feel a little turned on again.

"This dress won't work though," she said, apparently considering her wardrobe in her mind.

"The dress is fine, but if it bugs you, take it off. I don't mind."

She smirked for a second before her face became serious. "Sit down."

His attempt to appear calm and at ease failed horribly, although he looked more amused than nervous. The moment he sat down, his eyes were all over her, covering every piece of her that he could find, envisioning the places he could not actually see and imagining the textures of everything he could lick, feel or be against. He wasn't sure how she felt about being so blatantly looked over and appreciated, but when he looked at her face, she definitely seemed somewhat aroused by his desire.

She went to her stereo, turning on something with a club throb that he would never voluntarily listen to in any other circumstance, but it was becoming his favorite song. Disappearing from the room for a minute, she returned, sliding a new thong over her legs and under her dress while she stood in front of him. He watched for the extra bits of leg that were exposed while she put the panties into place. He smirked, "So you're going to be a better stripper by putting clothes back on? That could work-in a reverse stripcology kind of way."

"You weren't complaining when you were watching me do it."

"Because I was too confused to complain," he started out confidently and then seemed to lose some of his snark.

She approached slowly and pushed his left leg open, creating a space and stepping forward. He was half waiting for her verbal response, half ready to continue his own response, when she started to gather the bottom part of the dress and pull it up along her body. She slowly exposed her thighs, standing between his while her body moved seductively in ways that made him want to be against her. While he watched her exposing her legs, his mind obsessed on how recently he was the one to lift her dress, touch her thighs and feel her wetness.

Her legs were so toned that he could see the lines of muscle, but they were wrapped in silken skin that he was eager to touch again. But then that was the only rule. Something that initially seemed simple was already feeling like a monumental impasse. She reached behind her back, lowering the zipper that allowed the straps to fall from her shoulders and down so that the top part of the dress was balanced on her breasts. She moved with the fabric, with the music, the sight of her was erotic, more because of the way that she moved than from the moves that she made, which said a lot, because Cuddy understood how to handle her body. She was effortless in her dance, graceful in her appeal, and he wondered if he would ever see anything she did again without thinking about how inherently sexy she was.

She started to slip out of the dress while she danced, allowing it to drop to her hips and then to the floor. He slowly blew the air from his lungs while he admired her. She was slimmer than the last time he'd seen her naked. Her breasts were so full and firm that it seemed she was the one supporting the bra and not the other way around. She was doing the bra a favor. She stepped out of the dress, balancing in her heels with the ease that most women wore comfy slippers. His eyes were drawn to her feet because of the way she stepped out of the dress and kicked it to the side, so his eyes had the chance to follow her legs to her perfectly curved hips.

She moved closer, hovered over his lap, allowing her legs to brush against his thighs and slowly turning. He could finally see her ass, not really contained at all by the tiny garment she considered underwear. He actually heard himself groan a bit, and when his hands shifted in his lap, she turned back and held up a warning finger.

"You touched me first," he argued, looking at the spot where his thigh met hers and wishing he wasn't wearing jeans so he could feel her leg right against his skin. He wanted to feel that feeling, the smoothness of her legs wrapped around him or entwining with his.

"I didn't say no touching," she said while she moved her ass back over his pelvis, hovering right over his erection and subtly grinding against him.

The jeans were really starting to piss him off. It took a second for him to comprehend her words, and he seemed to forget how turned on he was for a moment when he retorted, "You DID say no touching," with noticeable frustration.

She turned back to face him, straddling his good leg, her knee brushing his groin, "No, I said no hands."

Next, she started to unfasten her bra, it was something he didn't expect her to do, but the urge to touch her was taking over. His hand moved toward her and then, remembering her rule, he grabbed onto the seat of his chair, hoping that filling his hands with something else would stop him from filling them with her. She was touching his hard-on with her body, her ass, her thigh, and it didn't quench his thirst, it exacerbated it.

The song ended, her bra barely on her body, and she said, coolly, "What's the verdict?"

"About?" he asked, still looking at her body but becoming impatient.

"Am I sexier than the women at the club?"

His eyes went up to hers, "I won't know until I see your breasts."

"Nice try."

"If you really want me to compare, I need to have the same frame of reference."

"I'm not asking you to evaluate my anatomy, I'm asking you if the way I dance is hotter."

He was still taking her all in, it was hard to pretend that she wasn't the sexiest thing he had ever seen when she was almost naked in front of him. Finally he nodded, in some way, hoping that his agreement would be rewarded by the removal of one or both of the articles that she still wore. "You are hotter. At least compared to the women there tonight."

"Thank you."

Cuddy slipped her bra straps back up over her shoulders and he sat forward, and he said without pleading or ordering, "Don't stop." His eyes looked up at hers, showing his need, his desire, and an sense of sadness at the thought that what was so intimate seconds ago would soon be replaced with so much space between them.

The song that came on after the louder, more throbbing song was softer, still with a nice beat but more sensual. It was provoking them equally. She was tempted not to stop but he could see the indecision. She hadn't yet re-clasped her bra, but she didn't decide to continue either.

"Speaking of stopping-you shouldn't have stopped me earlier. I would have made you cum," he suddenly bragged, wanting to take her back to the memory of the feeling of his fingers on her sex.

"I was really close."

Those words shot through him, "So why stop me?"

"I told you, I don't want your fingers on my clit while you're fantasizing about some stripper."

"I was trying to picture what I was touching. I didn't have time to think of anyone else."

"Missed opportunities," she answered. "Maybe next year you should pick a different place."

"There's no one else here now," he said. "No one to interrupt, no one to try to distract me or make you feel jealous—"

"What I felt was not jealousy," she sharply retorted, "it was a sense of self-worth. I'm worthy of your full attention."

"And you have it."

Her bra was slipping out of place over her one breast, a fact that she knew because his eyes were there. It looked like he was trying to will the bra to disintegrate.

"If you use your hands, you violate our agreement," she reminded.

"I'm more than happy to use something else. If only there was some other body part I could touch you with."

She wrinkled her face, trying not to smile before rationality attempted to find the light of day one more time, "What are we getting into here?"

His eyes were still over her, she was killing him, and he stuffed the urge to offer the obvious answer of exactly what he was hoping he was getting _into_. His voice came out so much lower than he'd expected, "Come here."

She stepped closer, still with one arm across her chest to hold her bra in place. Her eyes lowered to his jeans, to the bulge that could be seen uncomfortably encased, and he could see that she wanted to touch him almost as much as he wanted to touch her.

"What's the punishment for getting handsy?" he asked when she started to sway ever so slightly with the new song, "just in case."

"It was that I would stop."

"It was? What is it now?"

"We could see who caves first."

"Who caves and gropes the other one?"

"Yea," she answered, hearing the voice of a woman who was losing control.

"What's the prize?"

"We could go back to that favor we talked about. Loser owes a favor."

He slowly blinked his eyes, thinking that he might cum just from the way she said 'favor.' He managed to answer calmly, "You understand what a 'favor' would constitute if I win, right? I'm not asking you to count cotton swabs in the clinic or give me an extra day off."

"I have a suspicion of the nature of any of your requests."

"Demands."

"Fine."

"And you're ok with that?"

"You won't win."

"Really? You're that confident."

"Yup. But you have to strip down."

"Me?"

"Right. Otherwise it's unfair, when you get near me it's almost like I'm not wearing anything. I can feel you through this lace. The jeans are like a buffer. Gives you an advantage," she said with a slight tease in her voice.

Teasing or not, he was kicking his sneakers off and trying to drop the jeans as quickly as his body would allow. She was amused while she watched him stripping, so uncoordinated compared to her graceful shedding of clothing. As soon as his jeans were off, he sat back down in his boxers and tee shirt. "Shirt too," she ordered.

"That's not fair. Then I'm topless you aren't."

She looked down at her bra and smirked when she looked back at him, "You want the bra off?"

"If I'm topless, you should be too. Fair is fair."

"You'll have to take it off yourself."

He weighed his options, and allowed his legs to part while he sat on the edge of the chair. "Get closer."

She stood right in front of him. She was right, he realized, having fewer clothes between them did make things feel more real. He leaned forward and grabbed the center of the bra with his teeth and started tugging it off. She could have used her arms to prevent it from falling away, she could have done something to make it more difficult, but she didn't. The bra was on the ground, but it wasn't helping his cause. Realizing that seeing her only made him want to touch her more, he thought his request could have been a mistake, but then he refused to ever think that Cuddy being topless was a mistake.

She was moving again with the music, standing practically against him, straddling his leg wearing nothing but her panties. Her thigh was bumping against his cock, and he was fully hard at this point. She looked down at the tented fabric of his boxers with a look of both approval and longing, biting her lip subtly before he caught her and she stopped immediately. They both seemed to want something so desperately that they were never going to have, like they were looking through the window of a candy store without a quarter in their pockets to spare.

Her breasts were right in front of his face, tempting him to action. He sat forward, reaching out to graze a fully peaked nipple with his teeth. Her eyes had been closed and they popped open as she warned, "Woah!" while she crossed her arms over her chest and pulled back a few inches.

"You said no hands."

The rationality of the argument seemed to win her cautious acceptance. "Your shirt is still on. I don't have equal access," she argued with her arms crossed.

He pulled his shirt over his head and flung it on the sofa. "There." She unfolded her arms slowly because she wanted to, although she was trying to act like she was behaving obligatorily. Her body was a bit farther away than it was previously and he continued, "Come back here. Where you were."

As soon as she was near enough, he grabbed her nipple between his teeth again, pinching the flesh just enough to cause a reaction before he smoothed over it with his tongue. Trying to regain control, she pressed her leg between his thighs, receiving the grunt she was hoping for, but he wrapped his lips around her breast and started sucking. She leaned a bit closer, almost grabbing the back of his neck before she remembered. Her forearms rested on his shoulders while she enjoyed his skilled attention.

She pulled away, turning her back to him so he could see her ass again. She hovered over his boxers, dancing just above him, but she was definitely touching his dick, swiveling her hips over him and allowing enough touch to make him crave more. He wanted to grab her hips, feel the ass he'd been staring at, but he kept a death grip on the chair, hoping he wouldn't cave first. She turned again, her little body wedged between his legs. He was so close to being inside her, he could feel it. For a moment, he pondered the unhappy possibility that she was going to entice him for so long that he'd cum in his boxers. A possibility like that would have seemed far too improbable only hours ago, but given how long she'd been teasing him and how much she was touching him, it didn't seem all that remote a possibility anymore.

Her fingers went to her forehead, running them back through her hair, everything she did seemed impossibly sexy. He lifted his left leg so he could press against her still covered but wet sex, and her lips parted while she moaned. He didn't know if it was intentionally targeted toward making him crazy, nor did he care. He reached up and grabbed her lower lip between his. He expected that she would pull back like she did when he had touched her nipple with his teeth, but she didn't. She moved immediately forward, the length of her body against the length of his.

When they broke from the kiss, something that felt like it almost came along too late in the process of seduction, he noticed that his hands were out in a position of surrender and hers were pulled behind her back, both using all of their power to avoid touching the other.

They were at a point when they didn't exactly know what to do anymore. Stopping seemed like pure insanity, continuing made them completely vulnerable, and if they didn't stop, they both had an idea of what would happen. The next few moments were more erotic than he'd ever expected because of everything that was implied. She slid her panties over her hips, letting them fall to the ground before she stepped out of them. Little more was truly exposed, but her, completely naked in front of him, changed everything.

She moved closer to him, casually but carefully stepping over his other leg so she was straddling him. While she did that, he pulled his dick through his boxers, even the feeling of his own hand for a moment was a hint of relief that ultimately only resulted in more desire. She looked down at his fully hard, practically begging cock before she moved her hips against his torso, sliding down closer to him. He thought about explicitly asking for her consent, but no one forced her to take off her panties or move her body into a position so overwhelmed with potential.

He directed his cock, still hoping she'd move just an inch or two closer so she'd take him into her body. Her forearms wrapped around his neck, she met his eyes, granting and asking for consent without a word. Then she slid lower until his tip was pushing at her entrance, pleading for acceptance. He could feel her moisture coating him in the small place where they touched. Her body felt like hot relief waiting to be taken. She tipped her hips front and back, rocking a little lower while she took an inch or two of him into her core. She took a minute, both enjoying the feeling and trying to adjust to his healthy girth. He was still, calm, carefully moving his hands back to the seat so he'd remember not to touch her. The plan was simple: the moment her hands touched him, he was grabbing everything that he could reach.

She moved slowly, working down along his length, the muscles of her pussy clenching while they stretched to accept him. "God, you feel—" she paused, breathing slowly before she started to move gingerly.

"You do, too," he answered letting his hands leave the chair and using his forearms to hold her sides because he wanted to feel her close.

He loved being the one to fill her, being the one to affect her, making her feel something that was obviously so pleasurable while he, too, was feeling so much pleasure. Once she was comfortable, their pace started to escalate quickly, the tight glove of her heat slipping, gripping and pulsing all around him. They weren't fucking long, maybe two or three minutes when she gasped in his ear, "I'm gonna—"

Before she could say the word 'cum' he could feel his body hit the point of no return. He grunted out loudly, groaning in time with his fucking. She quickened her pace, too, wanting to be sure she was going to finish her orgasm on a fully hard man. She was moaning, her voice unsteady, raspy and sexy as hell before she gasped to the completion of her own climax.

When they could finally stop moving, she was flush against him, his cock still resting in her. He wanted to stay there for a little while, feeling their bodies returning to a sense of normalcy. His forehead was against her neck, her fingers were against his back and in his hair. He smirked sleepily when he realized she was touching him, that her hands had actually broken the rule. He had won, a fact that he couldn't fully gloat about yet in his sated state. His eyes shot opened when he felt his hands gripping her ass and realized that he, too, had caved. He didn't even remember when it started or who surrendered first, he didn't remember her touching him or him touching her, it all just happened. And God it felt good.

"I won," she whispered seductively into his ear.

He pulled his head back, "You touched me first."

"The rule was hands. I won when you grabbed your dick."

"The rule wasn't that I couldn't touch myself with my hands, it was that I couldn't touch you."

"I didn't say that."

"Who touched who first after that?"

She shrugged, but he saw the guilt in her eyes. If she didn't know that she'd lost, she at least suspected that it was possible.

"You did, didn't you?" he asked, assuredly.

"I don't know. It was a moot point because you had already touched yourself, which meant that I had already won."

"You didn't specify that in the rules."

She took his neck in her hand, kissing from his jaw back to his mouth. His eyes glazed over again and she raised a victorious eyebrow. "There's only one thing to do," she suggested.

"Admit that I won?"

"No, we'll have to have a tiebreaker."

He pulled his head away from her to search for signs of sincerity. He could see the flash of worry, the preparation for rejection that she was gathering while she started to re-don an invisible protective cloak. He couldn't even imagine mustering the strength to reject her while he was still inside her with her perfect body wrapped around his. His hand moved slowly up one side of her back, as delicately as he could touch anything, and he answered, "Seems like the only fair way to handle it."

He could see the protective film disintegrating around her before she smiled and nodded and leaned closer until their lips met again.

**-The End-**


End file.
